You–Story Of Your Existence

This is a true story. Rather this is the truest story. However, this is not entirely my own. I’ve read about it on the internet and in a few books. They can sue me for plagiarism but I don’t care anymore. I have to tell you this. This thought has been continuously damaging the inside walls of my brains, striking them and confining me in this ethereal cage of misery. And to be free, I’ve to tell you everything. I want you to know this because all of this is true. One thing that I don’t get is how come all of this is available to everyone on the internet? How come all of our secrets are published in the books? How come everyone can read the words I never said? How come all the world knows this, yet I’ve never told this to anyone. You’re my miracle from god (if there is any). You are my little secret and I will never share you with anyone. I swear what I’ve observed is real, and I swear that I’ve felt all of this.

I’ve been observing you for quite a long time. I’ve been gazing you, staring into your blue hopeful eyes. I have keenly observed the way you flick your hair off your shoulder. I’ve been observing the way you look at me, the way you caress me, the way you move your fingers through my hair. I’ve observed the way your cheeks turn red when we talk about love, the way your forehead forms a perfect curved frown with just one mystical movement of your eyebrows. I’ve keenly observed the warmth that enters my chest by just knowing that you’re always with me. I’ve been observing the way my shoulder blades shiver with the faintest of touches from your mystical palm, the way you use your mesmerizing eyes to manipulate me into doing the stupidest things of my life. And I swear on my life that all of this is true.

You’re oxygen to wipe the fog off the blurry wind-screen of my car. You’re gravity when I’m upside down. You’re my eyes when I can’t see anything. You can bring a soul, even as dead as mine, back to life. You think my stories are interesting. You get me. You know me inside out. You know the truth behind my sad jokes. You’re the one who understands me in times of joy and melancholy. You don’t mind my fears and anxieties. You also like my taste in music. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re all that’s pretty and jolly. You’re everything good in the world. Except for one… Except that you’re not real, that you’re a lie, that you’re a vanity, a delusion. Except that you’re imaginary, that you don’t exist. Except that you’re just a hallucination. Except that you’re merely a beautiful but fake daydream.